Craving: A Kylo Ren Tale

Seventeen

I rise long before the sun, knowing I have a tremendous amount of work to accomplish before the dinner party. I've nailed down at least 30 RSVPs, and plan to cook for 40 just in case there are last minute extras that show.

Dressing in light blue jeans and a shirt I bought when I saw The Used in concert years ago, I throw my hair into a bun. My hands gently caress the garment bag hanging in my closet, tonight's gown patiently waits for the evening's festivities.

I've prepped many of the ingredients, but there is so much to cook and bake. Some guests celebrate Christmas, others Hanukkah, so I've tried my best to create an inclusive menu. Something for everyone.

Meats are placed in separate ovens to begin slow roasting throughout the day. I chop root vegetables that will soon join them. Different doughs are mixed for various desserts. Fruits are prepared for sauces and jellies. Spices are thrown into a pot of wine to mull over low heat.

Kylo hasn't made an appearance by mid day, but I don't have much time to worry about him. If he's hungry, he'll make his way to the kitchen. There are so many smells wafting through the apartment that it would be impossible not to find it.

For a brief moment I panic, but then I realize that many of the guests are important people from his line of work, so surely he won't bail on his own party.

I have to remind myself to eat lunch, I've been working so intensely that I forgot breakfast completely and I've been running on caffeine and sheer willpower.

By mid afternoon, the hired wait-staff arrives in their formal attire. Ready to help prepare the dining and living room for guests, clean and set the dishes, line the table with serving platters that will soon hold the evening's meal.

And yet still no Kylo.

Phasma arrives an hour early, thank god. I don't have the mental space or energy to order around the staff while putting the different finishing touches on everything. She's in her element, barking orders at the underlings.

Soon the dining room is full of a feast.

Appetizers of mini quiches, cheese and crackers, latkes with applesauce and sour cream, a spread of tropical fruit. A drink cart holds liquor, beer and cider on ice, eggnog, mulled wine.

A main course of roasted turkey, brisket, Yorkshire puddings, roasted potatoes, carrots, parsnips, brussel sprouts, salad, cranberry sauce, dressing and gravy.

The dessert table is full of mince pies, jelly donuts, various Christmas cookies, trifle, and a Bûche de Noël centerpiece.

I finally feel like I've done all I can, and I'm double checking every detail when Phasma approaches.

"You've outdone yourself! But one question: Do you plan on attending the party in that?" she jokes.

I've completely forgotten my grungy appearance, my band tee and jeans now littered with stains from the day's cooking.

"Oh fuck, you're right. I should go get dressed, people will be here any minute. Um, I still haven't heard from Kylo today..." I reply.

"He'll show his face eventually, he always does. I'm sure he's drinking whiskey in his studio, mentally preparing to mingle," she chuckles.

I leave her in charge while I head back to my room to shower and quickly get ready.

Soon, I'm staring at myself in my closet's full length mirror.

A blood red strapless gown with a sweetheart neckline hugs my torso, falling loose at my hips to just above the floor. Black peep-toe heels, higher than I normally feel comfortable in, make me feel more powerful. A thin silver necklace hangs to just between my cleavage. Simple black winged eyeliner, and a bold lipstick to match the dress. Hair curled and pinned in a classic Hollywood style.